


Trial

by extremesoft



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, M/M, Masturbation, Religious Themes, Self-Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremesoft/pseuds/extremesoft
Summary: Ricardo wishes he could vomit the unbidden feelings out of himself, scream until the snake slithering in his brain would slither away.





	Trial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SenorCasillas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenorCasillas/gifts).



> Set before the 2014 World Cup.  
> (Poor Ricky, this was more grim than I even remembered...)
> 
> For The Dude, without whom this would probably have never seen the light of, uh, the Internet. Thank you :)

  


Ricardo lies alone on his own bed.

Almost everyone else in the world knows him by the name of Kaká, but to himself he's still Ricardo, and Ricardo still hasn't fallen asleep despite going to bed over an hour and a half ago. No, he lies there with his whole body inexplicably tensed, his dark gaze wiping the ceiling as if he's trying to seek for answers or comfort there. The expression on his face is blank but sharp, as if he's thinking about something extremely displeasing but at the same time so fascinating he's unable to let go of it.

He's thinking about Cristiano.

He shouldn't, he feels like he really shouldn't, and yet he is.

He's had a wonderful time at the training camp with his compatriots. There's no question about that, no. He has enjoyed actually having complete discussions in his native language, and he has taken enormous pride in his home country as he has gone through the game and the tactics and the moves and the _dance_ with the other Brazilians. He has gotten along extremely well with the others, and he hasn't had to cross their coach in any way. His feet have felt light, easy, they've moved just right and hit the ball precisely, just right.

And still there's something that's not in place. There's something missing.

Ricardo doesn't want to think about the thing absent; and still it's there, lurking in the corners of his mind, slithering in his brain like the snake in Paradise, offering him the fruit. He doesn't understand. Why would he need anything but his compatriots beside him, why would he miss anyone except for his beautiful wife and adorable children?

He tries to get a hold of himself. He prays, voiceless words fall from his lips and vanish into the cool night air. This is a trial, a test set before him by the Devil; since as a good person who has read his Bible from the first page to the last, Ricardo sure knows how God can sometimes, in his unfathomable wisdom, let Satan test even the most faithful of people. Ricardo believes this to be the fate of Job: a temptation has been put in his way, and he is not to yield to it but to gracefully overcome it. A temptation, just a passing tribulation. 

_Christ, grant me strength... Christ... Christ..._

_Cristiano, Cristiano..._

_NO._

And suddenly his eyes fly open again, filled with bitter tears. How can he be this weak, how can he even begin to desire anyone besides his wedded wife, how can he desire another _man_ , ache to hear his voice, to feel his touch, miss the fingers always getting tangled in his hair, over and over again. Ricardo wishes he could vomit the unbidden feelings out of himself, scream until the snake slithering in his brain would slither away. Devastating shame and longing at least as devastating flood through him, mixing with each other and turning into a shapeless mass with no beginning and no end to be seen.

He's trying to flutter the tears out of his eyes, his fingers intertwine ever more tightly as he desperately keeps trying to splutter his silent prayers, but the more he's trying to deny his own craving, the more forcefully his mind becomes filled by images of Cristiano. Laughing Cristiano, disappointed Cristiano, Cristiano lying flat on his back on the bright green field, Cristiano fiercely embracing him after a goal, Cristiano mischievously grinning at him. Ricardo remembers how firm Cristiano's grasp feels when he holds him, he remembers how effortlessly Cristiano's fingers run through his hair...

And so Ricardo's head is overcome by fantasies, he can't unthink them, he can do nothing to stop the dam from breaking. Fantasies of Cristiano's featherlight fingers wandering down from his hair, along the nape of his neck and down to his back, those fingers running everywhere on his body, the barely noticeable and yet so insufferably forceful touch; and oh, how Cristiano's lips would feel on his own, on his neck, behind his ears, how Cristiano's toned body would feel against his own. Ricardo is already so aroused it's almost painful, he can feel it clearly through his dreaming, and he's more ashamed of himself than probably ever before. It's almost as if he could be torn in two by the sheer rush of feelings, lust and self-loathing.

His erection is constantly brushing against the fabric of his underwear and it's making nothing easier at all. He doesn't even notice the hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he slowly slides his hand down his stomach, carefully avoiding making any sound; and as he comes to the hard bulge he has to bite his lip with such force he can swiftly taste blood in order not to gasp, he's so desperately longing for touch, he's so desperately longing for...

The fantasy of Cristiano has taken over his whole body, he has to get to touch, _now_ ; and the wandering hand slips underneath the waistband, reaching for his cock. His fingers move slowly at first, tentatively, but Ricardo is already beyond the point of no return, he can't stop, he won't stop. He picks up the pace instinctively, he still has to keep biting his already swollen lip to make sure he's not even breathing any louder than normal. Sweat runs down his back, tears down his neck, he's so close it's agony; and in his head Cristiano is kissing him with the ferocity of a beast, Cristiano is shamelessly touching him, _owning_ him fully, completely. And in his head Ricardo is _enjoying_ it, oh God, enjoying like never before.

The orgasm shakes him and he can't stop a quiet whimper from escaping from between his lips. The waves crash over him, stilling after a short while, and that's when the disbelief and mortification suddenly slap Ricardo on his face with their full force. What has he done, oh Lord, what has he done. Both his shirt and boxers feel damp.

He turns to his side, presses his face to the pillow that's already wet from all the sweat and tears, and cries, in despair and longing, still without making a sound.

  
  
  



End file.
